


our steps will always rhyme

by veridical



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Retirement, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2018-12-14 18:06:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11788566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veridical/pseuds/veridical
Summary: It's only his second senior season, but competing, watching, being there together is like breathing by now. There're so many chances, so many opportunities ahead that Shoma gets almost lost in them. He's not used to thinking too far ahead: it's one goal, one competition at a time. It's what works for him and what he makes work.He never really thinks some things might end.





	1. things we can't untie

**Author's Note:**

> My first multi-chapter fic. I'm very excited and intimidated!
> 
> I'll try not to focus too much on factchecking (which I'm... prone to do), especially since after this chapter it'll be all fantasyland, since I'm not planning to wait around until GPF etc. happens. I'll be adding tags as I go along, but the overall premise will stay the same.
> 
> This takes life from a lot of conversations with unos. <3 Thank you for all of that, for your comments, support and everything.
> 
> Title from Leonard Cohen.

“It’s going to be fine,” Mihoko mentions offhandedly before the first official practice.

Shoma nods, automatically. He knows it’s true: it’s different, he’s different, they learned from their mistakes and took a different approach this year. Besides, it’s just practice, and he’s learned to relax during practice. He knows his head works differently when he skates before judges and the audience. He’s learned to work with that, too.

But practice in a new place is different from regular practice in a Chukyo rink, or even in Chicago. There are skaters all around him, and the atmosphere is buzzing with energy, and he’s eager to step onto the ice, more so than usual.

It’s a nice place, different from every ice rink he’s ever been too. The walls and the ceiling are lumpy, and it feels big despite the fact that there are no windows. He’s glad they have this practice before an open one, at the arena with the rows that are soon gonna be filled with audience. It feels quieter, even though he doesn’t really notice people watching or taking photos during practices – he’s hardly aware, really. He only notices after he’s done a run-through and he has to bow, and it feels so weird, because it's just a run-through, and his mind is just different during those, and yet people are seeing him, clapping for him.

“I know,” he nods and smiles. Mihoko smiles back.

It’s easy. The ice is great, his jumps, maybe, less so, but he is able to focus, work on his expressions, forget that it’s the Worlds and it’s been a year since the last one. It’s just a practice session, some run-throughs. In a cave.

"The sound is nice," he hears when he sits down for a short break. He turns and-- oh. It's Yuzu. He saw him at the hotel yesterday, but was too tired to actually approach him, and Shoma briefly wonders if Yuzu also saw him, also deigned best to not say hi then.

He nods politely, having not really noticed the difference – ever, probably. Maybe it’s wrong, but he knows Keiji and Ryuju kinda always made fun of Yuzu for caring so much about the audial capabilities of the rinks and he doesn’t really know anyone else that much into it.

"A pity it’s gonna be different in the actual arena,” Yuzu continues, face screwed up in displeasure. “Probably worse, to be honest. I mean, it could hardly be worse than in Marseilles, but still. This is a _cavern_ , it’s just… amazing.”

He looks happy to be here, and he was happy the last time Shoma saw him, too, after Four Continents, despite the fact that he lost there and Shoma knows, he knows Yuzu hates losing. They all do, but.

And yet, he is smiling, and Shoma still remembers how affectionate Yuzu was at the gala and the banquet. It feels nice, feels… right. Comfortable.  
Yuzu kinda rocks back and forth on his heels, which is astonishing, seeing as he is wearing his skates and guards. And then, in a quick rush, says, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Shoma’s face probably just got even redder than it usually does during practice. Why does Yuzu always just… say stuff like that. "So you can ramble at me about the sound?" he asks, unable to help himself.

Yuzu brightens and flops down beside him.

“Did you know that in old caves like these, people very well might have held concerts one day? Because the sound is amplified and focused thanks to the natural resonance. It was actually in those places that they used to draw the most cave art, too.”

Wow.

“Wow, tell me more,” Shoma deadpans.

Yuzuru makes a disgruntled face. “Can’t. I have an interview scheduled.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Shoma replies quickly. He wasn’t even serious, but somehow he doesn’t feel that happy to be free of Yuzu’s rambling. “You can talk to them about sound,” he suggests.

Yuzu offers him a swift smile.

“No, it’ll probably be like… quads this, World title this, Olympics that.” He rises up as quickly as he sat down. “The usual. You know.”

Shoma nods because even if he doesn’t get as much attention as Yuzuru, he still gets his fair share. At least he doesn’t have to try to talk in English to them.

“Good luck,” he says tentatively.

Yuzu nods, hand raised as if planning to do something but then lowering it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Shoma nods, feeling strangely relieved and bereft at the same time. “Bye, Yuzu.”

 

Starting from the next day, it’s a blur. Going through the corridors that will become easily familiar in the days to follow, automatically noting good hiding places just in case, he feels excited instead of nervous. It’s a new country, it’s a new place, new arena, new feelings. New him.

Most of all, he feels grateful to have been able to take part in so many competitions. He still watches others, before or after him, even as he catches strange looks from his competitors sometimes. But he did that that in Luxembourg (which is a name Mihoko drilled into him) and he does that here, when his practice is over and he can spare half an hour.

At some point Keiji finds him, straight up tells him he’s not gonna let him die before Worlds and drags him to the hotel. He says something about going to walk around tomorrow with the girls while he’s pretty much dropping Shoma on the duvet, and Shoma is pretty sure Keiji chose this specific moment so that he couldn’t put up a protest and couldn’t refuse.

“Shouldn’t we wait until after the competition,” he mumbles into the pillow, but no one answers him.

 

He doesn’t watch all of his group so the results are a bit of a surprise, but the only thing he can now feel is relief. He did it. He skated his short program clean, twice in one month.

It’s like he finally caught it, something that was in there, in the music, maybe, in the steps, in the jumps and spins and all the little details he doesn’t remember the origin of, if Mihoko told him or they just developed, somehow. He doesn’t know what to think.

It feels strange to be ahead of Yuzuru – three places and several points ahead, – even more than Nathan, or Boyang, or Patrick. At least he isn’t in the first place. He shares that thought with Mihoko, and she smacks his shoulder lightly.

“Ouch,” Shoma says.

“Don’t say that,” she chides.

He nods in agreement, but the strangeness doesn’t leave. He leaves it, though, at the arena, and plays videogames with Keiji, not really knowing how else to offer support. The next day he valiantly offers to have a little walk after practice, and Keiji laughs, and they end up in a place with good meat and mediocre rice.

“Can’t have it all,” Keiji says after Shoma informs him of the pros and cons of the local cuisine, and they’re kinda silent after that.

 

There’s nothing quite like watching the free skate before entering the arena, Shoma thinks. He sees the falls and the disappointment, he sees Keiji who does his best, but still just not enough, - but amidst all, he sees so much to look up to, so much he could improve, so much he feels he can never do or even aspire to do, so much _skating_.

It feels like home.

He goes through the six-minute warmup like it’s nothing, not noticing which jumps he lands and which he loses to the ice, movements sure and familiar. It’s not what counts, and in his mind, he already knows it’s only his actual skate that will matter.

So it’s no big deal to stand there, in one of the corridors, warming up his body, and watch.

It’s nothing, except.

Shoma knows, already, that he wants to see Yuzuru triumphant after a skate, so wondrous that it's hard to tear his eyes away, all might and confidence. Usually, it would fill him with bubbly happiness, something inside him clawing to reach the ice; it would feel like floating, almost flying; the desire to defy, to reach, to touch.

But in Helsinki, Yuzuru's skate grounds him. The feeling that has become so familiar moves aside to reveal something deeper, something soothing, satisfying, clear as ice and just as strong.

It feels so easy: hearing the scores, letting Mihoko express joy in his stead — their joy, the result of their work, their accomplishment, — accepting the congratulatory hug from Yuzuru, who looks so... sure, sure as the ground, sure as the ice. Sure that Shoma would do well. He doesn't look a tiny bit astonished or impressed, even though this is the cleanest free skate Shoma delivered this season. He is just... there. Accepting Shoma as Shoma climbs another step towards him.

And it feels easy, on the podium, it feels easy to hug Boyang, and to loop his arm briefly with Yuzu's, once, twice, to make it less of a joke and more of a ritual and of a way of affirming they are both, indeed, here, high as can be.

And that's how it begins: when the shimmering joy slowly edges away to be replaced with something steady, something firm and reliable.

But he feels soft - softer, maybe, than ever.

 

The interview and the ceremony next day are maybe not what he wanted to do.

Shoma briefly thinks that maybe he should have asked to stay on the ice and learn the choreography a bit better.

As it is, he valiantly tries to not fall asleep and look an active participant, which is not something easily achieved. The weirdest part is not even when they try to pry names of anime he watches out of him (which, no, never, over his dead body), but when Yuzu acts surprised and even possibly hurt when Shoma says that he spent yesterday evening playing games with Keiji. As if he wasn’t spending nearly every evening like that.

Really, he didn’t even think that Yuzuru might want to take part in something like that-- and he just wanted to spend time with Keiji, maybe check if he was okay after the free skate, even though it’s not like Shoma could have done anything on that score.

Yuzu laughs it off, of course, and helps him fix his medal, and is the nice media-person-Yuzu he always is in those interviews. Shoma hides a small sigh. He wishes the gala would come sooner.

"I don't actually mind," Yuzu tells him after they're free from the interview, ridiculously earnest. Shoma nods first, then realises he doesn't know what Yuzu is talking about, not really.

"Sorry?" he asks, and Yuzuru laughs.

"You can play games with Keiji, Shoma," he says, smiling, and Shoma nods automatically before realising what was said. By that time, Yuzu has already left.

But he makes a note to invite Yuzuru next time. Whenever that might be.

 

The next time is, maybe, too soon, less than a month instead of the next season, the next Worlds, maybe Nationals-- well. He doesn’t really expect an opportunity to hang out with Yuzuru, really. Not this soon.

Shoma stands there, having skated another good short, as disappointing as it was to double his triple-- and he is at a loss for words, and at loss with what to do. He knows, logically and factually, that Yuzuru had bad skates before, that everyone has bad skates sometimes, but Yuzuru looks... devastated. Shoma can't even find in himself to think that this competition doesn't matter. He knows it matters to Yuzu.

It pulls the ground from under his feet for a bit. He goes for a hug almost automatically. He wishes he could be sure and determined, like Yuzu was for him in Helsinki, but he can't, and his hands barely grasp the hunched shoulders.

Yuzu bows before him.

"I'm sorry, forgive me," he mutters quickly.

Shoma feels soft and useless. Kana gathers them together, reminds Yuzu it’s not the end of the world, and everyone just looks sad and sympathetic and Shoma has to get out, change and rest and forget.

 

He tries, and he still finds himself knocking on Yuzu’s door in the evening — but he can't bear it anymore, not even sure if he is worrying for Yuzuru or for himself. He knows that he can do a good skate even after a bad short from Yuzuru, though. He's done it before and he'll do it again — in this competition, especially, for his teammates and for his country.

Being first after the short still feels a little unsettling, when he thinks about it. Mostly, he doesn't — the skating order does not really affect him. He used to watch others skate after him; now he gets to watch them before he comes onto the ice, and nothing has really changed. Skating last is both an honour and a big responsibility, but it drives him, too, pushes him to do even better.

He doesn’t like to think too much about that, so he knocks.

He doesn't knock again when there is no answer, unsure if his insistence would be welcome.

But after several more seconds pass, the door opens and Yuzu is standing there. His face looks washed out, his eyes tired, but not red, mouth a thin, unsatisfied line. He is holding the door in a weak grasp.

"Hi," Shoma says, pointlessly.

"Hi," Yuzu echoes.

"Can I come in," Shoma blurts out before he can change his mind.

Yuzuru nods and lets him pass. Shoma desperately tries not to look at anything too much without just closing his eyes, but he can't look at Yuzuru, either.

"You can sit down," Yuzuru says. His bed is unmade, and there is a laptop on it. Shoma doesn't need to guess or ask.

"Thank you," he says almost voicelessly and sits on the very edge of the bed, trying not to look at the screen. There’s a video paused there, and there’s a small part of Shoma that wants to close the laptop. 

They are quiet, and then, "I'm sorry," Shoma says and is startled by the weird echo immediately after. Oh. They both said it.

It's awkward, and Shoma hates it, hates feeling like that with Yuzuru who is somehow easy to be with, managing to talk and joke a lot without making Shoma feel lost or out of place.

Yuzu laughs, suddenly, a painful sound, but it still make a small crack in the frozen mood.

It's difficult, it's almost impossible, but Shoma has to speak. He has to do something, and if pressed, he would find it hard to say exactly why, but it's certain, it's the right thing to do.

"You don't have to apologise," Shoma mumbles.

Yuzuru takes a deep breath. Shoma tries to find more words, but they're all wrong. He knows that Yuzuru is upset, he knows that Yuzu is disappointed in himself, he knows saying that it's just a team competition wouldn't solve anything, because it's not just. It's never anything just, and he understands it. Yuzuru wants, needs to always do his best, and they've all seen him on top of his game.

Shoma desperately looks around, forgetting all propriety, and finds the darkened screen. Oh.

"Do you wanna watch something else?" Shoma asks, a bit desperate. "Or-- or play. We can play something together."

In the corner of his eye Yuzuru visibly swallows, nods.

"O-okay," Shoma confirms, having not really been expecting a positive response.

Luckily, Yuzuru has two controllers, so they actually manage to set up a game pretty soon.

It's not very fun, Yuzu quiet and Shoma afraid of saying wrong words, but it's something. They point out ridiculous things to each other once in a while. Shoma feels, once again, painfully soft.

At some point they somehow switch to watching funny videos, and then just videos, and it's quiet and almost comfortable.

Until Yuzu takes a deep breath and says, "I'm thinking of going to Fantasy on Ice."

"Oh," Shoma answers.

"I finally can, and Brian asked me if I wanted to do any shows this year, and I was so focused on... World Team Trophy, and then practicing for next year that I didn't think of it."

"I'm going to be there," Shoma says, for no apparent reason.

He sees Yuzu smile just a little out of the corner of his eye.

"I know. You're doing many shows this summer, right?"

"Yes," Shoma replies. "I like doing shows, I like... performing. You can't redo things there, don't have to train over and over until it gets better. You just go out and skate, and that's it. You know?"

Yuzuru doesn't reply, and when Shoma looks over to him, he's staring ahead without looking, fingers clenching the controller he's still holding.

Oh. Oh, he was so focused on not saying something wrong, but it just wasn't possible, he had to go and break it, the strange quiet they found themselves in.

They sit in tense silence, and then:

"I wanted it too much," Yuzu mutters. "I wanted to, at least once, on that day, and it just-- I just couldn't."

It hurts to hear him speak, but Shoma isn't going to stop Yuzu from talking it out.

"I try too much. I know. I know I can do it, and then I concentrate too much, think too much, want it too much and," Yuzu's face screws up, unnaturally. "Sorry, I didn't mean to unload onto you--"

"It's okay," Shoma says quickly, and Yuzuru looks at him. He looks so pained, and Shoma is probably looking the same. "You can, um, talk, if you need to."

Yuzu looks as if he'd rather be anywhere but here and Shoma feels hot shame pool inside him, but then Yuzu sighs and drops the controller and curls onto himself, and this, more than anything, tugs on Shoma's heartstrings.

“Is there anything I can do?” he mumbles, lost, not sure how to not make it about himself. “Sorry, I can’t-- I can go if you want me to, Yuzu."

He is hunched as well, half-looking at Yuzuru and half-trying not to look. They are sitting close and he thinks about what could help, what could possibly help here. What he would want in that situation.

To be left alone, maybe. To sleep and forget. To listen to someone talk, be distracted from himself.

But Yuzu is different, and Shoma knows better than to apply his own comforts onto him.

“You're helping,” Yuzu mumbles, so quiet Shoma almost misses it. He can't really believe it.

He thinks about going for another hug, but it feels wrong, almost invasive. He thinks: I wish you could feel better. I wish I could make you feel better.

The thought feels selfish and even more invasive than a theoretical hug. Shoma feels mildly sick.

He shouldn't be here, shouldn't be doing this, trying anything. He shouldn't see Yuzuru like this, this shouldn't be something he knows or feels.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers.

“It's okay,” Yuzuru says. He has a tight smile on that is hard to look at. Their elbows knock when he uncurls. “You don't have to apologise.”

Shoma nods, almost bowing. He stays for a while.

 

Watching others is like habit.

Watching Yuzuru is like a drug. He is skating in another group, an earlier group, and he looks ready to kill. Shoma almost shivers. A couple other skaters are watching, too, so at least he's not alone.

He knows Kana prepared some new amazing-looking headwear this day, too. He just hopes Yuzu skates well enough to put it on.

It's amazing as always, but he still doesn't know if it is _good_ , good enough for Yuzu until he sees him off the ice, smiling, and Shoma breathes out.

 

When he's off the ice, tired but happy, grateful he didn't do that bad, amazed by the fact that Mihoko thought he'd be able to do _more_ , he can finally breathe freely. The whole team is there to cheer him on, and his chest feels tight with the feeling. It hits him that this is it, this was his last competitive skate this season.

It feels good.

Yuzu is there, too, smiling and hugging him — it's brief but it’s great, satisfying, and in that moment Shoma doesn't know why they don't do it more often. Then he remembers yesterday.

He doesn't even notice the moment he got a bow on until he's walking away from the arena and Wakaba laughs, tugging it off him.

“Oh,” Shoma says.

“I was beginning to wonder if you were gonna walk out like that,” she says, and then looks pondering for a moment. “I think I'm gonna take it now.”

Shoma literally could not care less, but Yuzuru raises a protest by snatching the bow from Wakaba's hands and putting it back on Shoma.

“Where it belongs,” he says, looking at Shoma as if they're sharing some secret that nobody informed him of.

“Not fair!” Wakaba exclaims. “I need it for photos. It's not like Shoma will take photos of himself.”

Yuzuru's face suggests otherwise. Shoma hopes he was not planning on taking photos of him. There's probably already a lot out there.

“You can be Mount Fuji!”

“I already was, and anyway, it's not for me!”

Yuzu rolls his eyes, and Shoma takes the headbow off and hands it to Wakaba.

“I think you need it more than I do,” he offers, and Wakaba snatches it up and grins at Yuzu triumphantly.

Later, she sends Shoma a picture of her and a bow-crowned Evgenia. Wakaba is smiling brightly, Evgenia almost shining.

Shoma thinks of what to reply for so long he falls asleep.

 

The gala feels like an end and beginning both — an end of the season and the beginning of the streak of shows that Shoma is not even thinking about, right now. He just knows he needs to do a lot of them to get into his programs as early as possible.

It certainly feels like a show, what with the group numbers and the general atmosphere — and the fact that it's on home soil, too.

His exhibition is a comforting thing he likes to slip into when he gets tired of running through his programs. He doesn't get tired of it. It feels like home.

This time, it feels like saying goodbye to something close and warm, too. He doesn't want to approach Kanako before his skate, there's not enough time and he's too uncertain, so he just goes onto the ice, and skates, and remembers.

She is not like Mao or Daisuke for him, but something different, closer, maybe, more comprehensible. More reachable. More annoying. Unlike Mao or Dai, she's not a skater first to him; she's like Keiji, maybe, someone who is just _there_. She won't not be there just because she retires, and in that sense, it doesn't make him as hollow as others’ retirements. He'll still see her, talk to her, just, well. Less often. He won't be there for her birthday, this year.

It makes him wonder if there's a way to know someone as a skater first and then a person, as well, enough so that the person becomes more important. He doesn't think so.

 

The offseason is a blur, a blessing and a curse: he moves between countries and shows, between rigorous training and learning choreo he will forget in half a day, finds himself even enjoying it, a little bit. He does as many shows as he can, a small one in America based on something he's never seen and bigger, shinier ones all over Japan.

"I think there's a theme to this show," he texts Yuzuru while laying in his small bed near the Glacier Ice Arena. "But I just skated my regular exhibitions..."

He debates adding something else, a self-deprecating sentence or an emoji, but Yuzu answers first. 

"Well, I won't be skating with a live performer in Fantasy on ice."

Shoma ponders this when there's a second message.

"I think you can skate whatever you please!" There's a string of ultra happy emojis after this, and Shoma imagines Yuzu smiling brightly. "It's not Japan. And didn't you offer to do it yourself?"

Shoma nods, then quickly types, "Yes."

"Well, they'll be happy to see you skate anything! Or, they already were?"

The crowd was nice. Everyone: Alex (who insisted Shoma called him that), Chris, people who came to see him there, young skaters — were very, very nice to him.

And it's equally nice to think that soon, he would be going back to Japan, and would do shows there, even if performing his new short is a tiny bit intimidating.

"I guess so? Thank you," Shoma writes back, realising he's been sitting with the app open for a while now. He wants to add something like: I'll be happy to see you there. I'm looking forward to seeing you again. I'm glad you're doing shows again.

"I'll see you soon, right?" the new message says, before Shoma can actually decide on anything.

"Right," he replies, and, after a moment, "see you soon."

Yuzu smiles in return, or, at least, Shoma imagines he does.

 

During shows, while training, just-- _everywhere_ he sees skaters around him nervous, twice as determined as before, it’s like they put pressure on themselves, and yet, he can't really make himself feel that different. Excited, maybe, because new experiences tend to do that to him, sometimes.

"It feels like I'm doing something wrong,” he says once after a training session.

“You still have two months, Shoma,” Mihoko says with a hint of a grin, and he shakes his head.

“No, I mean-- people are so… everyone is talking about the Olympics, everyone always asks, everyone is so concerned and…”

“Shoma,” she says sternly, though not in her actual stern voice which he rarely gets to hear. “Are you suggesting that it's a bad thing that you're not nervous before the Olympic season?”

Shoma worries at his lower lip. "But I want to go," he says, needlessly.

"Of course you do," Mihoko agrees easily. “You just aren't worrying about it. Some people worry more, some less. You all work hard, though. That's the thing that matters.”

Shoma nods, not sure if she actually got him, but grateful nonetheless.

He wouldn't talk about it to her, but it would feel weirder, even bad to say something like that to other competitors, both from his division and not. He should be more worried. He should be more frantic.

But when he’s lying in bed, almost asleep, the thing that appears in his mind is a quiet corner the Pyeongchang arena where he’s watching others skate.

For now, it’s enough.


	2. both of us must try

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who managed to post before Rostelecom! since this diverges from real life after Lombardia Trophy and Autumn Classic International, I wanted to post it before GPs start to avoid confusion. of course, it is... only one day before... (did you know that COR is in my city?)

He wakes up late one night, bleary eyes and muddled head, and doesn’t know why. Some remnants of what he’s dreamed of are still there, as if he could simply lie back on his pillow and come back to them. He remembers looking at the rink and aching to be there and unable to go, he remembers being himself and not himself,q watching with unidentifiable frustration, he remembers actually skating and it just feeling… wrong. The more it comes back to him, the less he wants to close his eyes and go back to sleep.

He reaches for his phone.

It’s never far away, since it doesn’t really disturb his sleeping. But he wants something tangible now, something that reminds him that life exists outside his old, dark, uncomfortable room.

There’s a message.

“Did you have fun in America? (｡◝‿◜｡)”

Shoma stares at it, blinking, before he looks up and sees it’s from Yuzuru. Ah, that makes sense. Not a lot of sense, but some sense. Just because Yuzuru does that. Texts him random things at random hours.

He slowly reads over the message again, because he can’t really trust himself at this hour. He probably shouldn’t answer, should leave it until morning, but something tugs at him. He wants to answer, and he’s typing before he really thinks it through.

“It was okay. I’m home now. How did you know?”

Shoma looks at the timestamps and realises Yuzuru’s message came less than an hour ago. Oh, he probably shouldn’t have answered.

He is rubbing at his eyes and pondering whether he should get out of bed to drink some water or go to the bathroom or just stay where it’s warm and nice when he gets another message.

“I saw pictures! Kotaro posted them, you had a pizza hat on. You looked like you had fun. Did you skate at all? (¬‿¬)”

Shoma sighs with relief, and then the phone vibrates in his hands.

“Also, I think you should be asleep.”

Of course. Right.

He ignores the last message and carefully types, having to clear it several times and start over again. “I skated a lot. Alex made us skate with tires and other things. It doesn’t hurt as much, though. I’m not as tired anymore!” He almost adds an emoticon after this, maybe one pumping their hand up in the air, but thinks better of it. It’s best to leave those to Yuzuru. Shoma just feels awkward whenever he tries to use one. “Itsuki still makes fun of me. But it was nice that he came, I think.”

He doesn’t really know why he added the last part, and he sends it before he thinks it over. He could add other stuff: how there was media now even there, how his injury (ankle?) didn’t let him practice as much as he planned to, how his quad salchow has improved and how he thinks Itsuki has many more pictures than Kotaro posted and maybe Shoma should worry about that. He tries to remember whose numbers Itsuki has, out of his rude and treacherous friends. He certainly has Keiji’s, Sota’s, maybe Ryuju’s. He may have Kanako’s, which is potentially very dangerous, so he tries to block the thought out. At least he shouldn’t have Yuzu’s, and Shoma stops himself there.

Yuzu can be teasing, and maybe treacherous, in a way, so that’s true. That’s fine.

But now, is Shoma really thinking of him as a friend? Could he really think of him as such?

It’s true that in figure skating, there is no real senpai-kouhai relationship, and Shoma doesn’t really, truth be told, think of Yuzuru as his senpai. Maybe he did, back when he was just a junior and Yuzuru was the rising star, but he didn’t really ponder much on it, or on Yuzuru in general, really, always more focused on his own development and the way he just couldn’t get there; and then suddenly, it just… happened. Shoma was landing the triple axel, Shoma was landing quads, he was winning, and next thing he knew, he was on the podium, with Yuzuru, who, it turned out, had the most ridiculous laugh, and he kept laughing and laughing and making Shoma laugh, just because Shoma knew what to do when skating his programs, but not when he had to stand on the podium. Not like that. Not with Yuzuru waiting for him to put his arm around his waist, or, or whatever it was that he intended originally, because now they have to loop their arms together, always.

Shoma hides his face in the pillow, feeling warm and soft, and doesn’t hear his phone vibrate or chime again.

 

His summer doesn't drag — he was, truth be told, afraid of that. He would have shows, he would have training in America and Canada, but still he feared it might not be enough.

He wanted to be ready. He wanted to feel like the season never stopped, just switched to a different format: new choreos, a lot of people, different lighting.

Mihoko suggests that he take out some of the less-used costumes since the new ones aren’t ready and the old ones are too tightly bound to last season's programs. She says something else, he nods, nods a bit more, doesn’t really pay attention. He doesn’t really differentiate between them, and he’s grateful to leave it to Mihoko.

He notices the differences, still. He starts running through the choreography earlier, so that by September both of his programs can be on an acceptable, if not good level. So that he can feel comfortable in them, in the music and the rhythm and the choreo.

But when the summer is almost ending, it starts to feel… wrong. He is scared, maybe. He feels both exhausted and exhilarated sometimes, and the season hasn’t even started. He wants to talk about it to somebody, but he feels weak and ungrateful. Mihoko notices anyway, makes him take a day off and skip a couple of performances in the last show he’s doing, and he feels stupid that she has to intervene like that. He should’ve known better; he usually does. He knows his body, he knows his capabilities, he doesn’t push himself where he might not come back from.

Itsuki notices, too, and gets into that annoyingly caring mode where he pretends he isn't caring for Shoma, but still does.

Shoma is grateful.

But what he wants is to talk to someone who is not in the immediate vicinity, who is not going to judge, or even be able to judge, and somehow, he thinks of Yuzuru. It's funny, because he could write to Kenji or Sota or Kanako, and yet. There is something refreshing and new in the thought of just telling these things to Yuzuru, where last year he would not have… he would-- he would never even consider an idea like that.

And he considers. He thinks of the things he could write, then of things he couldn't. His training regime. His aches. His programs. Something.

But it's too much, isn't it. 

He wants to write to Sota, but they're in that weird place where talking about skating or training is awkward, because their roads have diverged such a long time ago, it feels like. He would maybe write to Keiji, but he doesn't want to bother him. Just needs to wait until Keiji contacts him himself.

Still, he feels like Yuzu would understand how there is only skating, and how that's both wonderful, and right, and terrifying.

 

He's on a bus from the training rink in Milano to the main rink in Bergamo, and he's pretty much nodding off, again, but in his sleepiness he suddenly just opens his contacts, finds the right name and writes.

“I rested a lot the past couple of weeks. Maybe too much.”

He sends it before he can really think about it. The message would seem stupid if he did, but he just closes his eyes and drops his phone somewhere on his lap and drifts off.

He shudders awake when his phone chimes three times.

“That’s good! ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ ,” he reads and stares blearily at the message until a second one comes in.

“I know you trained hard too.”

Oh.

Somehow this one message makes him warm all over, including, regrettably, his cheeks.

He can feel Yura eyeing him curiously, but she doesn't say anything in the end. Shoma is deeply thankful to be sitting next to her on the bus. He almost shudders to imagine what Wakaba would be like.

He focuses on his phone again. The messages are still there, and he doesn't know what to say.

“Thank you,” he sends eventually, and then, “I hope it shows in my skating.”

He doesn't say more, even though he could. It doesn't feel necessary. Yuzu understands.

 

He performs too well.

It's unnerving.

“How are you feeling?” Mihoko inquires, after she finally drags him away from the media.

“Tired,” he admits, then ponders. “But good. A good kind of tired.”

She nods in understanding, and Shoma is thankful that he doesn't need to say more. It feels late, and he realises he hasn't had a nap since he got to practice in the early morning. The exhaustion hits him like the boards on a bad day. In his mind, he can still hear his short program music.

He did it, somehow. He didn't think about it, he just did it.

He's asleep the moment he's on the bus, and Hiroaki has to shake him awake. It's drizzling outside, he doesn't have an umbrella and Mihoko is not here either; Shoma tiredly thinks of what he'll have to do with his hair tomorrow, then remembers that tomorrow is just practice. It's nice.

He catches up on his sleep, sneaking some naps here and there. His quad loop is getting stable again, and they decide to try the quad salchow tomorrow as well, his trepidation before the jump quieting down somewhat. It's funny, how he used to hate even the double, then the triple, especially for how it's supposed to be one of the easier jumps — and now he was getting ready to try the quad in competition.

On the last day, he tries to make his hair somewhat presentable, but it's a lost cause. It's raining again. He vaguely remembers his last time in Italy being all sunny and nice, but it's just passing thoughts, barely there as he tries to focus on the program. He doesn't expect the easy way he accepts the fact that the jumps are just not there right now. Mihoko just tells him to practice choreo, and he nods, and it's fine. It's comfortable.

Hiroaki gives him his jacket when Shoma realises he's forgotten his own — he only has one minute to panic before his teammate asks him what's wrong.

The smell is all weird, and Shoma almost asks if Hiroaki uses some specific kind of conditioner before he realises it might be rude. When he's alone, he sniffs the jacket. It smells of peach, something like the matcha-peach juice drink, only without matcha. Huh.

He jumps the loop, and the salchow, and everything else. It's unnerving. It's exhausting.

He falls asleep in the cafeteria, Mihoko and his teammates close by. Safe.

 

“I've heard you broke your record. Records, even.”

Yuzu says it nonchalantly, but inside Shoma, something shimmers when the meaning catches up with him. It’s important. He savours it.

Yuzuru is smiling gently, and Shoma is not even sure why they're doing a video call. It's nice. Seeing Yuzu is something of a comfort, something that he needs to remember that this is

It's just that the messages were frequent, once Shoma returned to Japan, but then Yuzu complained about all the writing and may have mentioned that he misses talking in Japanese, which is stupid because he has his mom there with him, but Shoma still remembered it, and, maybe, offered… this. The call.

The video part just kinda happened.

“Just a bit,” Shoma replies. He shuffles on the bed. He can see himself in a small window and it’s kinda unnerving, but thankfully, it’s way easier to focus on Yuzu’s face which fills up the frame.

He tries to remember what competitions Yuzu is participating in, maybe already has, but Shoma has no idea. It fills him with some shame, that Yuzu knows about him, about his personal bests, even, and Shoma knows nothing.

He tries nevertheless, not even trying to pretend he's that knowledgeable. “Uh, then… Have you also done a competition already?”

Yuzu hmmms, then grins. “I also had a personal best! In the short.”

“Oh,” Shoma breathes. “Oh. Congrats.” He takes a moment to process it. “Wait, but isn't it-- isn't it a world record?”

Yuzuru's grin stays the same, but it feels like there's some more effort in it, and Shoma doesn't trust it as much. It's weird. He doesn't know whether this gut feeling is right.

“Yeah. It is,” Yuzuru confirms finally.

“And the free?” Shoma inquires, when no other information comes.

Yuzu makes a face. 

“It was… bad.”

He doesn't look devastated, truly — and Shoma remembers Yuzu devastated, and he doesn't want to relive that, — he is just kinda pouting.

Still, Shoma wishes he could reach out and… well, he doesn't know what. Maybe pat his shoulder.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Okay. Well, it wasn't that important, right?”

Yuzu's face relaxes a bit. He's no longer smiling, but he doesn't look strained, either. Just normal.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “I suppose not.”

“Except for the short,” Shoma offers.

He only realises he is smiling when Yuzu mirrors that smile.

It's the last he sees of him for a while.

 

Even as he prepares himself, Shoma still manages to forget how autumn just sweeps by, every time. He doesn't have time to think, only to train. He rests only as much as he needs to, though he accepts that he needs a lot. Maybe more than other people.

They all seem fine, if nervous with the Olympic season, but he just feels-- lost. And tired.

It’s as if he is distanced from everyone but Mihoko. Of course, he has teammates in the Grand Prix events, and Takahito invites him to play games for a little bit after they're done with the free, except Shoma falls asleep after an hour. Mai and Yuna drag him around the French city, and Shoma wonders if Keiji made them do it, and he misses him, suddenly, so much. He's startled when he realises he's only gonna see him in late December, unless they arrange to meet before, and, well — there's not really time for that, and Shoma worries he might say something wrong or insensitive. Because of the Olympics. He never had that problem before.

He doesn't know when he'll see Kanako at all.

It's so strange, it's just been one year, but now he's kinda on his own, and not being bothered by his teammates, and. He's not… used to that.

But Keiji writes him dumb messages, demanding he tell him about Grenoble (to prove that he walked around at all) and Shoma answers him, and then he gathers up his strength and sends some pictures to Kanako, and somehow that easy camarederie is, in a way, resumed. She teases him and he mocks her and it's a good feeling.

 

It's late one night, evening practice stretched out too long, jetlag messing with his head and his body. He sends a burst of messages to Keiji, answers Kanako and then hovers over Yuzuru's name. He doesn't know where the hesitance comes from. it was easy to send something in-between shows and early competitons, but now — now it's been... a while. He doesn't even know what timezone Yuzu is in, whether he has a competition this week, and it's fine, he usually barely keeps track of his own, but in this moment, he wishes he did more.

He briefly considers googling. It might be too much. Like stalking. 

He just wishes he maybe thought to write before.

He closes the app and lies on the bed, and it takes him long ten minutes to fall asleep.

 

Early morning in late November, he gets a picture. It's Yuzu, and he's not quite beaming, maybe, but his smile feels genuine. Shoma is stuck looking at it for a while before he notices Yuzu in the picture holding two medals: silver and gold.

“We match!” the text under the image says.

Shoma feels, suddenly, so stupid and even guilty over how he just lay his phone aside every time he felt like writing something, because. Yuzu just sent him a stupid selfie with medals. His fringe is stuck to his forehead, so he's either has just showered or has just come in from practice, and either of those is quite weird, really. Shoma wonders what prompted him to send this just now. It's been around a week since his performance in France (he thinks it was France), and he caved in and looked it up, so he knows Yuzu skated in Japan earlier this month. So… it took Yuzu some time. Maybe he's in Canada now, training for the Final. Maybe he didn't have both his medals before. Maybe he simply didn't think of Shoma before.

He could ask, but. He didn't write for… some time. Month? Two? It's not really his place.

He realises he’s been staring at Yuzu's smiling face for too long and that he should send something in return. It takes him some time to find the medals. He's pretty sure they're this year’s medals, and he holds them in front of his face, but some of him still gets in the frame. He looks tired, but kinda happy, and he clicks “send” before he can think better of it.

They do match.

Silver is regrettable, but it still means he will go to Grand Prix, so it's all that matters. Shoma suddenly remembers Yuzuru telling him about the Canada curse. It's not that, of course, it was his mental state and hesitance before the free, his doubts and his poor performance from Worlds haunting him still. He knows it because he talked it over with Mihoko, and Coach Yamada, and Keiji, and even Sota who wrote to him one day, though Shoma felt like he didn't deserve it.

After that, it was easier to rise in the second event after disappointing himself and others in the first.

“Aw, that looks great,” comes the response. Shoma ponders upon the meaning of that when there's another one. “You were brilliant in France.”

Okay, so it was France.

Logically, Shoma knew that Yuzu must have watched him, but that direct confirmation is something different. He knows that Yuzu watches others to get to know his competition, but this, still, feels. Different. Uncanny.

He usually doesn't do this. Doesn't compliment Shoma directly, just between the two of them. With cameras around, or in an interview — yes, and Shoma's long since learnt to deal with the embarrassment that used to crush like a wave other him whenever one of those he perceived as better praised his skating, but this is something else, and Shoma doesn't know what he's supposed to say.

The silence must have gotten to Yuzu because the next thing Shoma gets is, “ o(_ _)o Sorry sorry! I startled you.”

“I wasn't startled,” Shoma writes, and then the next words just fly out from under his fingers. “Were you happy with your skating?”

It's also direct, and it's something he knows is closer to how Yuzuru would evaluate his performances. It's not precise enough, but Shoma never claimed to be good with words.

He gets called downstairs soon and eats his breakfast before he comes back to his room and sees a reply.

“No. Not really. It was good enough for the moment, I think, but I wasn't happy.”

Shoma stares at the screen, clenching his phone tightly in his hands. He feels like this kind of honesty is too much for him, for the moment, to bear. He scrolls further to see another message.

“I'm going to be better in Grand Prix,” Yuzu wrote.

“Me too,” he replies.

Then he drops his phone in the bag, changes and goes to the practice. When he gets there, there's a new message.

“ೕ(•̀ᴗ•́)”

 

Events come and go, and Shoma goes all around the world, trying to take jetlag into account, trying to prepare himself for Europe times, for American timezones. It's nice, kinda, to travel all around, but the autumn flashes past him, and then it's December and he's home.

Nagoya feels the same and yet different: thrumming with people more than ever. He sees his face on billboards, as well as Yuzu's, Javi's, Evgenia’s, Satton's, Wakaba's and others. Satton may be on those billboards the most and he smiles to himself every time he sees her there. She deserves it.

Suddenly the rink is a flurry of familiar faces; even on the streets he sees vaguely familiar skaters from other disciplines sometimes and at some point ends up eating miso katsu in some small place with a mixed company from America, China and his own teammates, which is when he runs into Evgenia dragging Wakaba around. They share a look of suffering and burst into laughs at the same time.

It feels good.

Shoma opts out of living in a hotel, even if it means daily commute, because it just... feels weird. He comes to the rink early as can be, and lets the familiarity wash over him. It’s good ice. It’s his ice.

Coach Yamada is here, and he's so, so desperate to do well, but still strangely calm.

On the first practice day, Javi startles him with a glomp from behind, when Shoma is chatting with Mihoko before on-ice practice starts. Shoma can't really say he's gotten used to it, but at least he doesn't jump, and he lets out a genuine smile when he turns around to face Javi's pats.

He looks both happy and tired, more than Shoma's seen him before, more than couple weeks ago in Europe. Javi had given him a hug in Japan Open, and then another one in France, and Shoma couldn't really get out of it, since he was already on the podium by then. But now, he looks... a bit nervous, his smile a bit tight. Shoma sincerely wishes him well, here. He's not about to let go of his place on the podium easily, not here, not in his hometown, but he wishes for Javi to do well, better than what happened last year. He wishes for everyone to do well.

He meets Yuzuru when he's almost out of the changing room. Shoma's half-prepared to just slip by, ready to go unnoticed. He knows how Yuzu gets before serious competitions. Even non-serious competitions, really.

But Yuzu gives him a soft, short smile. It's a bit vulnerable, as if he doesn't know what to expect. Shoma bows slightly, automatically, in response, and it makes Yuzu laugh.

There's a pause when Yuzu gets inside and starts unpacking his things, and Shoma is hanging out by the door for no reason. He tries to remember last year's Grand Prix, but he can't. It's been so long and so much. The only thing he knows is now.

"Wanna play videogames later?”

It's Yuzu who says that. Shoma doesn't know what prompted this, but he's past overthinking it. He wants it, yes, he wants to just relax and spend time with a friend, as wrong as it feels during all of this, during the Olympic season. Maybe Yuzuru also needs something free from the high-strung atmosphere of the competition. It's weird, maybe, that they're doing that, as direct competitors.

Shoma discards that thought.

“Sure.”

 

“Are you good at any of these?”

Yuzu furrows his brows. “I don't know.”

“You don't know?” Shoma asks, dumbfounded.

“I mean, I haven't played them. Maybe I am good.” He gives Shoma a grin that's half-mischievous and half-sheepish. Shoma finds himself smiling back, helpless to stop it.

“Sure. I'll pick one I'm not that good at at so you'll have at least a passing chance.”

“Hey.” Yuzu gives him a nudge that Shoma barely feels. Maybe he's hesitant because he's afraid of hurting Shoma.

He discards that thought barely ten minutes after when Yuzuru starts ruffling Shoma's hair after Shoma dares to say something about his skills in the game. It's a very aggressive, pointed ruffling. Shoma falls off the couch trying to escape it and doesn't get up after, just stays on the floor near Yuzu's knee. His head is in dangerous proximity to it, and he could let it rest there, if it wasn't for the fact that Yuzu's knees were terribly uncomfortable.

They are mostly silent for a while, comfortable, and Shoma remembers now, remembers how he used to feel alone at Grand Prix Final because all his friends weren't there — or he didn't feel like he could bother them. And now, well.

Is Yuzu his friend now? He looks at him — well, at his knee, — and thinks of him as a friend. It feels super weird. He’s still someone Shoma admires, someone who he first admired, looked up to, someone he wants to beat the most, and yet.

Yuzu laughs, and that’s something Shoma wants, too.

 

He is in second after the short, behind Nathan, whose program is wild and fresh and electrifying. Nobody cares that much about him watching others, and he indulges, knowing he might not feel that relaxed to do it in the free.

Yuzuru is in third.

He doesn't know what he thinks about the fact that he recognises the look of frustration on Yuzus face, or how he looks for it, looks at him to gauge his reaction.

He tries to reason with himself that he's already skated, so he can look freely, but it feels, somehow, even more like indulging, more like breaching something that isn't his to see.

He hides that feeling deeper inside, along with a stupid desire to comfort, which is a familiar thing already, but no less ridiculous.

He's in second. He's ahead of most of the others. It's not the first time.

He can deal with it.

 

“You want to do it.”

“Yes.”

“You can do it.”

“Yes.”

“You know this program, and you feel it, and you just have to show them. Go.”

He squeezes Mihoko’s hands, nods to Coach Yamada and takes a deep breath, and before he skates away towards the centre of the ice--

“You can do it!” he hears, loud, clear and familiar, and there's Yuzu in the Kiss & Cry.

He is radiant, brilliant after the free he wanted, the free he's finally, for the moment, happy with, but Shoma has his own program, and his own feelings, and this is his moment.

In the seconds before the music starts, he suddenly realises he knows how it will sound — not just the melody, but the actual volume and echo and quality. It's going to be different from 2016. It's a different rink, a different sound, a different him. He listens and feels the music bounce off the walls and fill him in, that music he listened to so many times, too many, when he was still only dreaming about skating like this, challenging the most difficult elements and the most experienced, top-class skaters.

And it's fun.

It's something he doesn't often think about or even imagine, because skating is all there is, it's all he is, but then, somehow, it all feels right. More than right — great. Amazing. He raises his hands and feels the music flow through them, and he's still not there completely, not yet, because there's so much he needs to translate, but he's trying, for now, he is trying. Even as he stumbles on some of his jumps, he grows more sure in the way he's moving, in what he's attempting to convey.

It's been difficult. If in the previous season he had to grasp and understand and fully embrace moves that were often new to him, here it's like he has to reach deep inside himself, and often he just… misses. Or he focuses on his steps and jumps too much and something remains lacking. Very lacking. He's aware, and he tries not to think about it too much.

He freezes before Nessun Dorma comes in, and feels himself slip into something that's half-new, half-familiar. This music used to be so comforting and uplifting to him, before the Worlds two seasons back. He wants to take it back.

He breathes, and lets his body melt, just hear the music without his brain cutting in, and when the music moves, so does he.

 

Shoma kinda forgot how well-organised Japanese events are. It may, of course, be that it's just so comforting to see everything written in his own language, and then, of course, it's also his third year, and Shoma doesn't need someone to help his understand what's going on; doesn't need someone to guide him and catch him and watch him. He doesn't.

But Yuzu is by his side, being all these things, slipping into the role naturally, easily, and Shoma is still weirdly grateful. Yuzuru seems happy, for the moment, and Shoma doesn't hesitate before hugging him or, later, Boyang. Yuzu bows to him, and Shoma bows back, and he climbs onto the podium and they link arms before he can even think about how it happened or how the medalists are the same, and yet he feels different. He feels more.

They are sitting next to each other on the bus when Shoma realises he's supposed to go home, that he doesn't have a room in the hotel. That Itsuki is probably waiting for him somewhere, if he didn't leave on his own.

“Are you okay?” Yuzu asks, and Shoma starts. His face must have been all screwed up.

“I… forgot that I was supposed to go home,” he mumbles. “I shouldn't have gotten on the bus.”

“Oh,” Yuzu breathes out.

“I… well, I probably should--”

“There will probably be a spare room at the hotel,” Yuzu says, quickly. “You-- you can stay with me for now. While they prepare it.”

Shoma purses his lips, bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn't really wanna go home, it just doesn't feel right after today — but he's also tired, and he doesn't want Yuzu to see him like this, sluggish and falling asleep where he's standing. 

“I can take a taxi from the hotel,” he says. “It’s not a problem.”

Yuzuru looks slightly worried, then he nods, briefly touches Shoma's elbow and turns away towards the window.

It is, of course, Yuzu who wakes up him some time later, even as Shoma hears Wakaba's familiar giggling behind him. He looks over, blearily, and she's whispering something in Satoko’s ear. Satton smiles to him.

Yuzu has one hand on his back, supporting, and just as Shoma is about to say he doesn't need that, Yuzu asks, “Wanna hang at my room for now?”

Shoma nods.

It's more of a sleepy blur afterwards than anything. He doesn't even realise how tired he is until he automatically collapses on top of the bed and kicks off his shoes. Or he hopes he does. Yuzuru stands there for a while and then gingerly lies down next to him. Maybe he showers before that, Shoma doesn't really pay attention. He should probably shower, too. He should get home or at least ask for a spare room at the reception.

Instead he closes his eyes and breathes in the fresh smells that remind him of air fresheners Keiji likes to use, only these smell better. He feels the bed beside him dip more, hears shuffling noises. Some sort of blanket comes over him, and he should protest, but.

“Were you happy with your skating?” he hears Yuzu say quietly.

Shoma mulls it over, takes his time. There's so much in his mind besides the skate itself: the faces of Mihoko and Coach Yamada, their hugs, the audience around him, his ice, the podium. Maybe that's just how it is, maybe he can't separate the actual performance from everything surrounding it. Maybe that's alright.

“Yes,” he says hoarsely, and then repeats, “yes.”

Yuzu is quiet, and Shoma can hear him breathing, a controlled, regular sound.

“Were you?” he asks, eventually. He thinks he knows the answer, but he wants to hear, and he wants to listen, he wants Yuzuru to tell him.

“No. Not yet,” Yuzuru discloses. Shoma nods, opening his eyes a little. Yuzuru is lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Then he smiles.

 

For some reason Kana digs out some props from last season’s World Team Trophy and distributes them among those who skate in the gala. Wakaba immediately snatches some of them up and speeds away way too fast for Shoma to catch up. Not that he really wants to. Satoko gracefully accepts the flower crown and then takes another one and hands one to Anna.

Shoma is really, really glad no one is paying any attention to him, for once.

“There you are.”

Shoma freezes, even though he knows what's coming — and of course, there are hands under his ribs, not as sensitive thanks to the training clothes, but still completely, profoundly horrible.

He tries to break away, stumbles, and Kanako catches him. Her smile is still terrifying. It's also warm and familiar, and she hugs him tightly, painfully, and he can't even pretend to dislike it.

He sees Yuzuru talking to Maia and Alex in the distance, and thinks, briefly, of getting a flower crown or something equally ridiculous for him to put on.

Then he thinks he bothered him enough.

Not that it stops Kanako from eagerly looking through the pile of props, taking one of them out and hurrying towards Yuzuru who is, for the moment, blissfully unaware of the impending doom.

 

The banquet feels longer than usual.

Honestly, Shoma kinda wanders around after Kanako leaves, occasionally running into someone taking selfies and wanting one with him, for whatever reason. The food is nice, and he eats his fill. He sits with Satoko for a bit, enjoying the silence that is comfortable and not weighing on him.

Eventually, he leaves.

He maybe stumbles into Yuzuru on his way out and feels weirdly guilty, because they crossed paths enough times, but Shoma didn't really… encourage any kind of interaction. And Yuzu never insisted; why would he. It's just a banquet, though, he reminds himself.

Yuzuru looks like he wants to say something, to suggest or ask or inquire, but he doesn't, in the end. He gives Shoma a small, half-sincere smile, and his hand passes over Shoma's arm.

Shoma nods and leaves and tries not to think about it. He goes home, this time, and doesn't touch his phone.

He's tired.

He goes to bed.

He falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pictures that Yuzuru saw in the very beginning are [these](https://twitter.com/lovekeaton0831/status/899741170200264707) & [these](https://twitter.com/lovekeaton0831/status/899740243301027840).  
> There was a practice rink in Milano for skaters at Lombardia, and it would take no less than 40-50 minutes by bus from there to the main rink in Bergamo. Also check [my photos](https://www.flickr.com/photos/asveri/albums) out :D
> 
> All the participants of GPF are my idea. I figured Kana and Chris could probably be invited there for the gala. Kanako was also invited for the gala, since it's Nagoya and I figured it would fit. IDK if GPF actually invites other skaters to galas, but frankly, Japan can do whatever they want.
> 
> If there are any references that you didn't get, feel free to ask!

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't hesitate to comment, even if it's short! every one comment is like Shoma smiling, u no


End file.
